Queasy like a gall.
And the burden so much for mortal's head to bear.
The debts, the fear and cares with sighs
Suffocates like fumes of wood.
As it was this morn.
The spinning head, the aching heart,
The feverish jar of clay,
The disquieted soul,
And eyes of flowing streams.
Were mine this noon.
But when you share it,
With who cares, becomes light,
When you share an' share it,
It becomes even lighter.
And you share it with ripples of
Water on your eyes:
It becomes the lightest,
Like a pack of wool.
As it is this even.
« return.